


Corpse Flower

by Tamagoakura (orphan_account)



Series: The Gore Collection [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Choking, Disembowelment, Dismemberment, Hand Jobs, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Necrophilia, Oral Sex, Serial Killers, Suicide, Tooth Removal, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4728245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Tamagoakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rafflesia unfurls to reveal a pattern like rotting flesh. A putrid bouquet fills the air. Each petal is nauseating, repulsive. Only vermin can flourish here. This is the Corpse Flower. [A series of stand-alone gore oneshots revolving in some way around Alfred F. Jones. Expect sporadic updates.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

This will be updated as each installment is released.

 

 **Monster** (ch.2)

rusame

Synopsis -  Ivan, a notorious serial child-killer, takes a new victim.

Warnings - Underage, bondage, serial killer, guro, blood, dismemberment, disembowelment, necrophilia, rape, mentions of incest and csa, general grossness.

 

 

 **Car Drabble** (ch.3)

rusame

Synopsis - Alfred gives Ivan road head.

Warnings - Oral sex, mild exhibitionism, accidental dismemberment and suffocation.

 

 

 **Goretober** (ch.4)

rusame

Synopsis - The two completed pieces from my attempt to take on Goretober.

Warnings - Tooth removal, vomit, underage, bondage, oral sex, head trauma, murder, implied incestuous feels, insane anger isn't pretty.

 

 

 **Colour** (ch.5)

UKUS

Synopsis - Eager for a break from his dull life, Arthur visits a certain establishment to get some stress out.

Warnings - Cancer mention, euthanasia, hand jobs, no sex, disembowelment, consensual gore.


	2. Monster

Heavy chains rattled as the boy struggled. Blond hair parted at the side, fringe swept over to the right, big blue eyes filled with tears. His sun tanned arms stretched up over his head, shackled and bound to a heavy metal chain that hung from a hook bolted to the ceiling. He hiccupped and tried to sniff a rope of snot back up into his nose. The boy's whimpers and sobs were almost completely lost through the makeshift gag - his own cotton briefs balled up, soaked in piss, and jammed in his mouth. Lengths of black electrical tape wound around his head, keeping the wadded up fabric in place.

The chain was drawn high to force him to stand on tiptoe, his ankles shackled and chained to the floor. One swollen knee was blotched purple and black. A large, blood-rusted circular saw rested with its jagged teeth between his legs, inches beneath his crotch. He was naked and trembling in fear, sore from standing for hours.

Ivan, a man easily in his thirties, stood at a large sink basin running hot water over a collection of knives. He let out a satisfied sign and turned the water off, then pushed one of the smaller blades into his pants pocket. His smile was lighthearted.  "They were talking about me at work today."

The incessant clanking of Alfred struggling with the chain was the only reply. Ivan shook the excess water from his hands then wiped them dry on his jeans. His clothes were frayed and stained, worthless articles he had pulled out of an old box in the attic. Nothing he cared about ruining. He combed his fingers through his hair (pale blond, it accentuated his fair skin and violet eyes well) and chuckled down at the trapped child.

Ivan reached out to touch the boy's cheek and Alfred jerked away as far as his ties allowed. Ivan resisted the urge to hit him. Instead he laughed, a weak attempt whose smile came nowhere near his eyes, and retracted his hand. His boots thumped dully on the concrete floor as he circled around behind the contraption to a long worktable attached to the opposite wall.

He pulled a backpack from the cupboard and did not recognize the mascot character printed on the front. Had he become so far removed from the lives of his beloved children?

"A shame," he murmured to himself. He spoke aloud again as he unzipped his captive's backpack. "Many of my coworkers were talking about me today, actually. The police found more of sweet little Devon, it was all over the news. What they said about me..."

He pulled each item from within the bag and lined them up neatly on the table: Notebooks, pencils, a library book, crayons, safety scissors. "They say that I am disgusting. Evil. They certainly hate me.

"Jacob said he wants to kill me. The things he talked about doing..." Ivan chuckled and pulled the boy's school I.D. from the backpack. "He called me a 'baby raper.' How ridiculous! You're not a baby, you're..."

He checked the card and turned to cast a sweet smile the boy's way. "Second grade, little Alfred? That would make you... Six? Seven?"

Alfred was both unable and unwilling to respond.

Ivan set the card in line with the other items and went to stand in front of Alfred once more. "Don't fight me." He instructed, then reached out to touch Alfred's cheek. Alfred flinched away and Ivan slapped him hard, jerking his head sharply to the right. He lost his footing and stumbled, his weight yanking on the chain and making the shackles bite into his wrists. Alfred's mind swam in pain. He could barely think but he managed to find his balance again.

"Do. Not. Fight. Me." Ivan reiterated coldly.  This time Alfred whimpered when Ivan touched him, but did not move. The boy's cheek was so silky under Ivan's fingertips. His perfect smooth skin was feverish and glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. Ivan was not surprised that Alfred fell ill; he had been hanging like this for some time in the dank basement. Before that Ivan kept him naked in a small dog cage on the floor until he had enough free time to play.

Ivan had been in his cool down, still sated from his last victim. Devon, a beautiful little five year old black boy that Ivan stole from a grocery store parking lot two towns away from his home. It was little more than a month since then when Ivan was driving home from a family event across town. Alfred had been out crossing the street, his backpack held in one hand even through it was late into the evening. He looked worried, his pace quick, head down. Blind to his surroundings.

Ivan had rules, strict rules he rigidly followed. No one from his home city, never in his personal car.

Alfred's cute face contorted in sadness overruled all of it. The street was empty when Ivan rammed his car into Alfred's tiny body, just hard enough to send him tumbling up onto the windshield and knock him unconscious. He was not sure how injured the boy was at the time so he slid Alfred carefully into the backseat, laying him on his side so that he would not choke if he vomited or was bleeding inside. Alfred did not wake up until Ivan was carrying him down his basement steps. The boy had been a little firecracker: he screams made Ivan's ears ring and his struggling almost pitched them both down the stairs.

Ivan barely made it to the basement when Alfred bit him, savagely plunging his small teeth into his shoulder. The man had howled in pain and dropped Alfred on the concrete floor. The boy landed with a hard thud, the side of his head smacking against the cement. Ivan kicked Alfred in the face before he had a chance to get up, smashing his glasses and bloodying his nose. He swore and kicked Alfred again in the head, his ribs and back, stomped on his leg. He felt the joint crack under his boot, heard the snap, and with a groan he came in his pants.

Presently, Ivan ran his fingertips down Alfred's thin neck, over the bump of his collar bone. Stopped to pinch and twist one small pink nipple until the boy screamed. Down again, flat palm along Alfred's side, squeezed his narrow hip and made him wince. For a moment he looked at the pretty purple/black/blue bruises that splotched Alfred's skin and the gashes carved into his thighs. The tears sliding down his reddened cheeks. Ivan shook his head slowly, almost in awe he found such a perfect boy.

Alfred yelped and tried to hop away when Ivan touched his little penis, but only succeeded in throwing off his balance once again. It took him longer to regain his footing this time, the fatigue obviously taking its toll. Ivan waiting patiently for Alfred to stop stumbling around then touched his boyhood again. Alfred whined but did not try to move. Ivan gently ran his finger along the length, tickled the head, slid around to the underside all the way down to the balls and back up again. He took it between his thumb, middle, and index finger and began to stroke.

Alfred almost lost his balance when he tried to twist his hips away. He whined, attempted to say something despite the gag, shook his head. Ivan laughed. "You are quite the wiggler! That's okay though, it is very cute.

"Am I the first one to touch you like this, Alfred?" He asked, his smile darkening into a cruel smirk. Alfred froze for a moment, those big blue eyes staring at Ivan, then he squeezed them shut. A fresh wave of tears spilled over onto Alfred's cheeks and Ivan blinked in surprise. "I'm not? Really?"

Alfred did not respond so Ivan gave the boy's prick a squeeze and continued. "Who was it? Teacher? Big brother? Does daddy touch you down here?"

He chuckled meanly. "Do you like it when they touch you?"

The boy sobbed and fervently shook his head but stayed still, even as Ivan's free hand slipped around to grope his little ass. The man massaged the cheeks, gently swiped his hand back and forth over each of those pert globes. He slid his middle finger down the crack to press against the hole. "What about here?"

Alfred's crying took on a more breathless, hiccupping tone. This time he tried to pull away again but did not lose his balance. The attempt was useless - it was impossible to move more than a couple inches in any direction. If he did not live in the suburb, Ivan would have removed the gag so he could make Alfred answer him. Force him to recount every instance of abuse in bitter detail. He wanted the boy to relive those past pains before he experienced something far worse.

Had it been _scary_? Had it _hurt_? Ivan's imagination went wild, flying through a million dark scenarios. Alfred pushed to the ground kicking and screaming. Alfred anxiously chewing his lower lip, eyes shut tight, trying to ignore such intrusive sensations. Dragged into a closet by a handsy stranger. Alfred falling silent, pliant, unsure in the tub as a family member took advantage of his trust. So many scenarios, so many possibilities. Ivan's cock stirred to life.

He released Alfred's boyhood in favor of focusing on his ass. So cute and small... He steadily added pressure until the tip of his middle finger pushed slowly into the boy's body. Alfred yelped in pain, his anus tightening in an attempt to keep the offending digit from sliding further inside. Ivan kneeled down and pressed his lips to Alfred's sweat-slick belly. He kissed the skin, tiny pecks dotted around Alfred's belly button, traveled down, his finger pushed further into that searing heat. Alfred's perfectly hairless crotch was salty on Ivan's tongue. The boy's body quivered, his insides squeezing and pushing.

From so close Alfred's scent exceeded the acrid stench of the basement, his sweet yet musky sweat only just overpowering the smell of old blood and urine. Goosebumps prickled Alfred's skin when Ivan lapped as at dick, a few playful licks with no intention of bringing the boy any real pleasure. The man pushed his finger in further, having to use more force to get it in past his second knuckle without any lube. He twisted his finger around inside, sliding along the slick, empty cavern. A few handfuls of laxatives had cleaned Alfred out quite well.

"Does it hurt?" Ivan asked excitedly, jabbing his finger in harder and deeper, relishing in every pained grunt and moan Alfred made. His breath quickened as his excitement grew, his dick straining uncomfortably against his pants. He pulled his finger out and with the help of a glob of spit, shoved both his middle and pointer fingers back inside. Alfred screamed as he was penetrated, the intrusion too fast and dry. Ivan thrust his fingers in a few more times, deep and harsh, then yanked them out. He gave Alfred's ass a hard slap, the sound and following yelp sending a sharp bolt of pleasure to his groin.

Ivan moved around to stand behind Alfred. He took the boy's small dick between his fingers and pulled it out straight. His other hand retrieved the blade from his pants pocket. Alfred watched the man's movements with wide, terrified eyes. His breathing picked up speed when Ivan pressed the blade against the base of his boyhood.

"Are you ready?" Ivan teased. Alfred stayed completely still, whimpering muffled pleas to be let go that Ivan could just barely make out from so close. The man waited until he calmed down a bit, wanting Alfred's full attention on what he was about to lose. Only once he had fallen completely quiet but for his heavy breathing did Ivan make the cut.

The knife slashed through Alfred's flesh, severing his penis completely. He screamed, blood pouring from the wound and splattering across the saw and concrete floor. Ivan took a few steps back, admiring the severed penis in his palm. It was so cute! Alfred's thrashing clattered the chains loudly but Ivan did not worry about the noise; he had spent a small fortune sound-proofing his entire home for this purpose. He went to the sink and gave the member a quick rinse to wash away the excess blood, then dropped it into a glass jar half-full of formaldehyde.

Behind him Alfred had fallen quiet. His pained moans and the gentle clank of the chains filled the space, each little whimper equal parts cute and arousing. He walked back around behind Alfred and placed his hands on the boy's narrow hips. The metal base of the saw clanked when Ivan kicked the trigger guard back, exposing the power button. He flipped the safety switch with his left hand then aimed his boot over the large red button.

When he spoke, the words came out quick, breathy. A slight tremble. "Are you ready?"

He stomped on the button and the massive blade shot into motion. Alfred panicked, eyes wide, thrashing as hard as he could to get away from the saw. The large hands on his hips kept him in place over it long enough for the full horror to sink in.

Ivan shoved him down onto the rusted teeth. The deafening whir turned into a shrill scream as the jagged metal tore through the boy's flesh and bone. Blood and bits of meat splattered out onto the far wall, coating the already stained concrete in red. Ivan pushed him down further, until Alfred made a choking sound and those pretty blue eyes rolled back into his head. He retched and two sprays of acid from his empty stomach burst out his nose just before Ivan stepped on the button again and stopped the blade.

Alfred's body fell limp, not quite dead but near it, in shock with the saw blade buried deep in his gored pelvis. Ivan flipped the safety switch and put the power button's guard securely down before giving Alfred's body a hard yank up and off of the saw. Blood and shredded bits of muscle and organs slopped from the gash, coating the saw's entire base and the ground around it. The blood loss had made his skin sickly pale, clammy and lukewarm. His head hung down, ropes of snot and bile leaking from his nostrils and around the edges of the gag. If it weren't for a few weak trembles and an occasional gurgle (the gag was tight; what little acid and bile he had vomited up was choking him), Ivan would have thought he was deceased.

Ivan's hands shook as he unlocked the shackles holding Alfred's wrists and ankles. His heart hammered in his chest, his entire body trembled. The pure, aggressive need to use Alfred's body was nearly enough to make him throw safety to the wind and just pull his suspended form to the side and take him right there. That would be a terrible idea... the saw blade would be too close, too dangerous. The last thing he wanted was to end up on the news being mocked because he killed himself with his own machine.

The last cuff popped open and Alfred dropped to the floor, his body slapping wetly against his own innards. Ivan grabbed him by the ankle and dragged him (the way Alfred's legs split apart, unnaturally wide, made goose bumps break out all across Ivan's skin) a few feet away from most of the mess. He dropped to his knees and flipped Alfred over onto his belly. No reaction - he was surely dead now. Ivan's own pulse was deafening in his ears as he fumbled his pants open and pushed them down around his hips. He lifted Alfred's ruined ass, looking at the hunks and clumps of deep red muscle, a few yellowed shards of bone, splotches of lighter red over yellow-white globs of fat. He used two fingers to move the meat around, pushed a bone out of the way, slipped his fingers into three fleshy pockets before finding what was left of Alfred's rectum.

Ivan kept his digits inside so he didn't lose it amongst the gore and used his other hand to aim his cock at the small entrance. The head poked against Alfred's hole, slipped in the blood, tried again and slid down the rippled texture of torn flesh. The slick feel of the blood, the heat of Alfred's exposed insides, they almost pushed Ivan over the edge. He squeezed the base of his dick hard and closed his eyes shut. If he kept looking, he couldn't calm down enough to take full enjoyment from the boy's small body.

He took a few deep breaths - each inhale tinged with the strong stink of Alfred's guts and the sharpness of coppery blood. He stayed that way a moment, eager to get started but unwilling to ruin this fresh kill by getting carried away and coming too fast. A dead thing did not keep it's heat long, and that was even more emphasized for smaller beings like pet animals or children. It was now or never.

Ivan opened his eyes. This time when he pushed against Alfred's limp body he slipped easily inside. A few tentative thrusts, edging deeper into Alfred's rectum then up into his colon, vigilant for any bone fragments that may have splintered off. Without the vice grip of an anus, it was simple enough to sink into him once he steadied his hand. Alfred's insides were loose with death, slippery and still hot in his deepest parts. His tiny body felt wonderful wrapped around Ivan's sizeable cock.

Each push was deep and slow, careful, until he got about three-fourths of himself inside and found that he could not get any deeper. Satisfied that Alfred's body did not have any unpleasant surprises for him, he picked up speed. Hard and fast, quick snaps of his hips that slapped wetly against Alfred's bloodied ass. The boy's body jerked limply with Ivan's movements, left side of his face pressed against the blood-splattered floor, dead eyes staring blindly at the far wall.

Ivan bit his lip, leaned forward a bit more to let gravity do some of the work, dug his fingernails into Alfred's now lukewarm hips and fucked him hard. His knee slipped on the blood that was leaking slowly from the boy's corpse but caught himself with one hand, his movements barely skipping a beat. His breathing was quick, shallow, interrupted by the occasional soft grunt or moan. A hot, electric pressure built at the base of his cock, rapidly increasing with each harsh shove until the pleasure was too much. Ivan forced himself inside Alfred's body as hard as he could, until he met the resistance and further, the harsh speed tearing through the boy's colon so Ivan could bury himself to the hilt as he came with a low groan.

He stayed there a moment, catching his breath, then slowly pulled out. Ivan looked down at himself: his softening dick was smeared with blood and dotted with thick clots. If he was younger the sight would have had him hard again in an instant, but now regardless of his mind, his body refused to comply.

"What a shame." He muttered under his breath, tucking himself back into his pants. He would worry about getting cleaned up later. Right now he had to finish with Alfred. Ivan stood up, giving his shaky legs a moment to steady themselves, then scooped Alfred up into his arms and carried him bridal-style over to his work bench.

He tiled Alfred's face up, gazed into those perfect blue eyes for a moment, then turned to rummage around in a drawer for a sharp metal scoop. With a few practiced flourishes he dug both of the boy's eyes from his head and after a short rinse, they joined his penis in the jar of formaldehyde. Ivan filled the jar the rest of the way with the liquid and screwed the top closed tight. He carried it, along with Alfred's school ID, into a pantry on the other end of the room.

There it went, the eighth jar in a row, eighth photo and name tag propped against the glass to know who is who. Each jar contained a floating pair of blue eyes and a tiny dick, the parts most worth remembering. Ivan looked around the mostly bare room. He had a lot of work to do if he ever hoped to fill it. He sighed half-heartedly, the task a daunting one but he could not help but be excited to complete his collection.

He left the room, eager to get back to Alfred so he could chop him up and finally have time to hop in the shower then take a well earned nap.


	3. Car Drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred gives Ivan oral sex.

Alfred bobbed his head, quickening his pace when he felt Ivan's fingers tighten in his hair. The old car growled when Ivan changed gears and Alfred let out a soft moan around the cock in his mouth, more than a little excited by the exhibitionism of sucking his boyfriend off as they drove across town. He shut his eyes and sucked harder, taking breaks to lavish the head with his tongue before sinking back down to take as much of the length into his mouth as possible. Lewd, wet sounds accompanied his motions, almost drowning out Ivan's soft sighs of pleasure. A shudder ran straight down Alfred's spine to his own manhood, making him squirm in his seat. His cock pressed uncomfortably against his jeans, the bunched material nearly pinching him. He nursed Ivan's cock head with his lips and tongue as he flipped his own jeans open and pulled his dick out.

He stroked himself in time with each pass of his mouth, slowing his hand to tease the head with his thumb every now and then when he did the same for Ivan with his tongue. His spit and the man's precome mixed together and drooled down, leaving Ivan's dick completely slicked from tip to base. Alfred let his own manhood go in favor of taking hold of Ivan's so he could sit up and get a good look at it. As he stroked the hot flesh in his hand he wondered if it was wet enough to get inside without hurting himself. After a moment he dismissed the idea for later, right now they were taking enough of a risk by driving in town like this. He didn't want to push their luck and get pulled over.

So he swooped back down and swallowed a little over half of Ivan's sizeable member without any trouble, earning a pleased groan from the older man. Alfred focused his efforts, eager to get the man to come before they reached their destination, quickening his movements and sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks.

"A-ah... Alfred, just a bit more..." Ivan breathed, using one hand to push Alfred's head down further. "I'm going to-"

The crash was as violent as it was sudden. In his distraction, Ivan failed to notice the car in front of them suddenly stopping for a stray cat bolting frantically across the street and rammed his old truck into their back end. The impact jarred them both, flinging Alfred forward and smacking his head on the steering wheel hard enough to make his jaw snap shut. He bit clean through Ivan's cock, severing it almost completely from just under the tip in one sudden movement. In that moment Alfred gasped out of shock, effectively inhaling the dismembered organ and getting it lodged in his throat.

It all happened so fast that neither of them had time to process what exactly had gone on. Ivan bled out and Alfred choked to death before help could arrive, leaving behind nothing but a cautionary tale for overzealous young people to take heed of.

Road head; not even once.


	4. Goretober attempt days 1 and 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started goretober last month and crapped out a couple entries before the average brain problems stamped out my enthusiasm. Two entries were drabbles and one was unrelated art.
> 
> Day 1 - Yandere Al chainsaws an unexpecting Ivan in the head.
> 
> Day 3 - Similar to Monster, Al gets his teeth pulled and throat-fucked.

**Head Wound**

 

The chainsaw bucked in Alfred’s hands and the teeth jerked to a halt, stuck against the wooden floor under Ivan’s split skull. Alfred managed to keep his grip on the powerful machine, the harsh rattling making his hands and forearms ache. He flipped it off and sighed, his breath condensing against the mask over his face.

One blood-soaked leather-clad glove pushed the mask away from his face, revealing himself to be a handsome twenty-four-year-old man with glasses. The white hockey mask sat, splattered in red, against his equally gore-covered short blond hair. His one and only witness was now a corpse so there was no reason to hide his identity.

He stood there a moment, breathing hard and glaring sternly down at his brother’s boyfriend. _Ex boyfriend_. Alfred’s hard expression softened until his blue eyes shone with mirth. His lips pulled up into a smile and a cackle escaped. Another, another, short giggles that grew in intensity until he was wailing with laughter. His entire body shook from the force of it, the sound bouncing around the shadowy walls of the rented cabin.

“He’s mine!” Alfred screamed down at Ivan, forcefully twisting the chainsaw’s spot lodged in the man’s skull until his neck contorted painfully. Alfred’s eyes trained on the plain gold band around Ivan’s left ring finger. “Did you really think I would let a broke piece of shit like you marry him?!

"I love him more than you ever could! I can give him anything!” He yelled, spit flying from his lips, cheeks red and eyes wide. His pupils were tiny pin-pricks circled in brilliant blue. Slamming his boot against the man’s ruined skull, Alfred wrenched the saw up from the cabin floor.

He held it above Ivan, hunched over and staring down at him, his entire body heaving with his ragged breaths. The gash was a horrid one, a jagged, deep red canyon slicing from the upper left of Ivan’s silvery hair and stretching down just past the lower right side of his nose. Besides the blood and hunks of flesh that spattered a side of the yellow kitchen paint and a length of the hall, the cabin was clean. The entire act had been surprisingly simple. There wasn’t much someone could do to struggle against a chainsaw, Alfred figured.

His gloved hand ran across the side of the chainsaw’s orange housing, sliding over the dripping blood almost sensually. Finally, after nearly five years, Alfred was free of him. He had his little brother to himself again, and this time he wouldn’t allow anyone to take him away.

 

* * *

 

 

**Mouth Trauma**

 

Ivan shrieked, shoving the boy’s head away from his pained dick. The  segmented ring of bloodied marks close to the base of his cock perfectly mirrored the tween’s red teeth. Small hisses of agony escaped Ivan’s lips as he stalked around the room waiting for the pain to subside. He glared at the kid sitting shackled on his basement floor; Alfred, a sweet boy that attended the junior high near to Ivan’s house - at least, the man had thought of him as sweet until he tried to bite his cock off.

Ivan stood corrected; Alfred was a hateful little bastard.

“I told you not to bite,” the older man said through clenched teeth.

Alfred’s powerful stare bored into Ivan’s eyes and when he spoke he practically spat, “Fuck you.”

“Nasty little shit,” Ivan grumbled to himself, happy that the pain was finally fading. Despite the horrendous look of the wound at first, upon further investigation it became clear that the bite was not all that deep. It would surely leave a mark but it did not mean the night’s fun was lost.

Alfred had bitten him for the first and last time.

Ivan went over to the other end of the room, his mostly-flaccid dick (still too sore to tuck into his jeans) bobbing gently as he walked, and dug in a few drawers before finding what he needed: a large pair of pliers. He made sure to show the boy his instrument and reveled in the way his pretty blue eyes, one ringed by a purple/black bruise, grew wide with fear. Finally that impertinent scowl was gone, replaced by something far more attractive.

“I do not think I need to explain myself,” Ivan said, approaching Alfred slowly. Occasionally he would clack the pliers’ teeth together, amused by how his melodramatic little show made the color drain from Alfred’s cheeks. He would have preferred Alfred to be pleading with him not to do it, begging to be let free. A few tears would probably bring his erection back despite the persistent ache.

Despite his obvious fear, Alfred didn’t cry or plead. Not even when Ivan kneeled before where he was bound to the floor and snatched him harshly by the jaw. A tiny squeak of pain escaped his lips when Ivan wrenched his face up to look at him. Alfred’s mouth was tightly shut and he tried to buck his head away when Ivan’s fingers squeezed against the hinge of his jaw but it was to no avail. Soon his mouth was forced open and the pliers tightly pinched his front incisor.

Ivan yanked harshly down, tearing the tooth from its bed. Alfred screamed, a full, robust sound that bounced around the walls and made Ivan’s ears ring, and ripped his head out of the man’s grasp. His whole body thrashed as far as it could within the cuffs and chains that Ivan had fitted him with, his yells soon tapering off into pained moans.

Ivan smiled. Served the bitch right, he had explicitly warned Alfred not to bite before pushing his dick between those pretty pink lips. He dropped the tooth to the floor and it landed with a dull clatter.

Once Alfred’s thrashing eased Ivan snatched him again and, after a small struggle, the pliers was clamped tightly on his left incisor. Ivan locked eyes with the boy - such a lovely face he had, almost angelic under the tears and snot and blood drooling down his chin (a fitting look for a twelve-year-old, Ivan thought) - and tore the tooth from his head. The ensuing shriek was ragged, higher-pitched than the previous had been. The tooth found its home on the floor beside the other.

Minutes ticked by as Ivan worked on extracting the tween’s teeth. Each one quickly yanked from his mouth and dropped to the growing bunch on the hard floor, until Alfred hunched in front of him with blood flowing freely from the dark red holes in his gums.

“Much better,” Ivan said. He winced at the pain in his knees when he stood and took a moment to stretch before heading back across the room to put the pliers away. Alfred’s constant soft moans of pain droned on behind him. Such a pleasing sound, soft, quiet, raspy from screaming until his throat was raw.

When Ivan went back to him, Alfred stayed where he was. Ivan grabbed him by his blond hair and wrenched his head up so he could look directly into his eyes. That fire from before was gone, replaced by a foggy, unfocused gaze. As much as Ivan had liked Alfred’s perfect rows of pearl-white teeth, this far-away stare was certainly enhanced by the blood streaking down his jaw, neck and green T-shirt. His mouth was little more than a fuckable hole now with those irritating teeth gone.

Ivan stroked himself, careful to keep his hand from brushing over the painful marks, then pushed his dick back into the boy’s modified mouth.  Alfred let out a soft sound of pain as Ivan’s thick cock rubbed against the exposed flesh and nerves of his gums. It slid down along his tongue, further more until it pushed against his uvula. Alfred choked, his eyes screwing shut as Ivan forced the entirety of his length down his throat until his esophagus visibly distended.

Alfred choked and gagged, his body trying to expel the foreign object. Each spasm of his neck muscles felt wonderful to Ivan, the smoothness of his bloody gums practically massaging him as Alfred struggled to breathe.

Tightening his grip on Alfred’s hair, Ivan picked up a brutal pace, ramming his cock into his mouth up to the hilt. Alfred’s face was a bright shade of red from struggling back the urge to vomit. He wretched every time Ivan’s cock slammed in, grinding harshly against the back of his throat. A few more thrusts, shallower this time, pushed him over the edge. His stomach wrenched and vomit, a chunky thick orange and beige fluid, sprayed out around Ivan’s cock and out through Alfred’s nose.

Ivan chuckled, the sound short and breathy, and picked up speed. The gooey texture of vomit made the blow job feel different. Ivan couldn’t decide which he liked better as lube; blood or sick. The electric feeling of impending orgasm built steadily, egged on by Alfred’s mostly failed attempts to force air into his lungs.

He pushed himself down to the hilt and came with a long, low groan, dumping his spunk straight down into Alfred’s now empty belly. When he pulled out Alfred’s head fell forward. The rest of him would have followed if he wasn’t restrained to remain on his knees on the floor. A thick glob of bloody vomit, streaked with come, slopped from his open mouth onto the pile of teeth on the floor.

Ivan wondered how long he could manage to keep this one alive. His last boy had lasted about a month before he died, but Ivan had never removed one’s teeth before. The chance of infection was high.

Oh well. There was a school right down the street, and endless supply of angel-faced boys to choose from if his current toy broke.


	5. Colour

Colour

 

The sky was overcast and dark. Heavy grey clouds scudded overhead, pelting the city with sharp raindrops. Clusters of black umbrellas glistened brightly under harsh streetlights.  Arthur worked his way through the throngs of people unfettered; there were little more than shadowed silhouettes to him, merely the concept of a human being in his vicinity.

His destination, a squat grey building only two storeys tall, was no more interesting to witness than the buildings that surrounded it. He pushed the door open and stepped into a sparsely-decorated entrance hall, an off-white room with two plain metal chairs together over to the left. He went through another door and was alerted to the staff by a gentle charm. The waiting room was the same off-white as the reception, but the plain linoleum floor was swapped out for a dull beige carpet. There was a row of plain plastic and steel chairs on one side of the room, the front desk on the other, and beside that a single porcelain sink.

"Welcome back, Mister Kirkland," The receptionist said from her booth against the right wall. Although she was an older woman, well beyond her prime with weathered skin and frizzy grey hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, she spoke in a chipper tone that always made Arthur feel at ease. "The usual?"

 

*              *              *

 

Blond, blue eyes, between eighteen and twenty years old. Always the boyish dumb ones. Arthur wondered if his taste was beginning to stagnate. The room was a simple white box, windowless, with harsh white lights set into wide circular steel rings pressed almost flat against the ceiling. A low, electric hum was constant. In the center of the room was a plain white bed and a white end table, and on that bed sat the blond man Arthur had paid handsomely for. Arthur noticed he was already naked and semi-erect. A go-getter.

The man, if he could be called that hovering somewhere between teen and adult, smiled and his teeth were as white as the walls around them, "Yo."

"Hello," Arthur returned, removing his dreary grey tweed coat and matching cotton scarf. He folded them over his arm then placed them flat on a low counter. His brown leather oxfords and dripping black umbrella found a separate home where their wetness would not spoil the pristine floor. "Have you been here long?"

"Don't worry about it, I came early," He chuckled. "Nervous, you know?"

"I understand."

A smile tugged at the blond's lips. Arthur recognized it, the usual flutter of apprehension they felt sitting there bathed in intense white light. The room was hot. It was always hot. _It's the lights_ , the man at the counter had explained the second time Arthur visited this place. Arthur asked him to turn them down and he said it could not be done. Against the rules.

"Is there something I should do?"

"No need, just lie back and make yourself comfortable," Arthur replied.

"Is it alright if I ask your name?" The man said, lying back as instructed.

"Arthur."

"I'm Alfred," He said as Arthur approached the table. Alfred's eyes, pupils like pinholes from nervousness, stayed locked on Arthur as he moved around the area.

Arthur stood over him, studying his body. Tall, well built, as if he spent a good amount of time at the gym, smooth chest and stomach until about an inch below his belly button where a thin line of nearly transparent blond hairs trailed down to meet his darker blond pubic hair. His cock was a pretty shade of pink, only slightly darker than his nipples, circumcised and of a respectable size. Alfred squirmed, his cheeks turning pink from the embarrassment of being studied so closely. Arthur noticed the small indents on either side of his nose indicating that he normally wore glasses.

"You look healthy," he commented.

"I am, mostly," Alfred replied. "At least, I thought I was until a couple months ago. Turns out I have a brain tumor. Doc said it's inoperable... They can try chemo but the chances of it working are pretty low."

Arthur nodded and ran his finger along the length of Alfred's dick.

"I don't want to go out like that," Alfred went on, his hands fidgeting. "Getting sick and weak... Besides, I always wanted to do this. I guess I just thought it wouldn't be so soon."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's alright." His smile was genuine.

Arthur wrapped his fingers around Alfred's dick and gave it a gentle squeeze. The younger man relaxed a bit, eyes trained on the white tiled ceiling. A soft sound of enjoyment escaped his lips when Arthur's grip tightened and he started to stroke. Alfred's cock was soon fully erect. On the high end of average, Arthur assumed. Thicker than most its length. He picked up speed and Alfred gasped, his hips bucking against Arthur's hand.

"Shouldn't you wait until... ya know," Alfred asked.

Arthur shook his head, his hand's movement steady, "You won't be able to once I start. Even with the medicine, it's painful."

"How painful?" Alfred asked, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensation.

"I've never been in your place, so I can't say."

"Good point."

Arthur quickened his movements, hoping to finish Alfred off before his wrist cramped. It seemed to be doing that more often lately, he had noticed. He sighed quietly to himself; his age was certainly starting to show.

Alfred groaned softly, biting his lower lip, and came. More white, like the room around them, contrasted against his tan skin. His eyes fluttered open, his widened pupils quickly shrinking again under the bright light. He looked at Arthur, "You're good at that."

He had better be good at it, he had been coming here at least once a month, every month for the last few years. "Thank you."

"So now what?"

"Stay where you are," Arthur replied, kneeling to pull a large plastic bin from under the bed. He popped the grey lid off and set it aside, taking his time choosing his instrument. His fingertips glided over black-handled knives, hammers, scissors and stakes. He could only choose one; more than one instrument compounded on the price, something that was already almost outside of Arthur's budget. Of all the ways to relax in the city, he had to choose the pricey one. Arthur sighed, remembering all the holidays he had passed on to afford these trips, and found his tool.

He covered the bin and pushed it back under the bed, "Is there anything you want to say before I start?"

Alfred stared at the silver scalpel in Arthur's hand with wide eyes, his gaze studying the length of it. After a moment he looked back at Arthur and smiled, "I took care of all my affairs before I got here, so I don't have anything important to say, really."

"It doesn't need to be important," Arthur reassured him.

"Um, well," Alfred said and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "Thank you, I guess."

"Oh?"

"I couldn't do this myself, and I didn't want to go to the clinic and get the pill. I've always wanted someone to do this for me and... Well, I guess I'm glad it's you. You seem like a nice guy. I could have gotten a real weirdo."

Faint wrinkles appeared at the corners of Arthur's eyes when he smiled, "You're welcome then, Alfred."

Arthur dug in the end table's drawer and found a syringe. The medicine was measured out and left here not long before Alfred had arrived, the perfect amount to ease some of the teen's pain while keeping him lucid. He requested Alfred's arm and the teen held it out but refused to watch as the sharp pierced his skin. Arthur swallowed his laughter; Alfred had come here knowing what this was, and yet he was squeamish about a simple needle? How endearing.

Alfred sighed softly when Arthur pulled the needle from his arm, his eyes falling shut as the drugs rushed through his body. Arthur had never tried it, such a thing was not allowed at this establishment and he had no interest in poisoning his body, but he had heard it was a euphoric sensation.

He waited for Alfred to come down from the initial bump, until he was there with Arthur. in that hot room. under the harsh lights. Just the two of them with nothing to distract from their activities.

"Feeling alright?" Arthur asked, picking up the scalpel.

"Yeah, I don't feel woo-ey anymore," Alfred said.

Arthur chuckled. _Woo-ey_. He hadn't heard that one before. "I'm going to start."

Alfred gave him a thumbs-up and Arthur noticed he was getting hard again. He considered finishing Alfred off one more time but decided against it. The staff wouldn't let him stay in here forever.

He placed one hand on Alfred's chest to keep his bearings and pressed the scalpel's blade to the man's flesh. It was incredibly sharp, diamond-edged and kept in pristine condition between clients. The blade slid easily through Alfred's flesh, at first leaving no mark at all until a long line of deep, beautiful red leaked from the wound.

Alfred bit his lower lip, his demeanor tense as he tried not to complain. Arthur was glad for it. Sometimes they lost their nerve at the last minute, while it was still possible to stop this, and Arthur would be forced to back away. Yes, they gave him a refund but the frustration of losing a man was nearly too much at times.

The scalpel slid toward Alfred's stomach, parting layers of skin down to the muscle. One long line until Arthur reached just under his bellybutton. He pulled the blade away, taking a moment to appreciate the leaking stretch of crimson. How the liquid beaded at the cut until it overflowed and sent brilliant streaks over his abs and down his sides to soak into the white blanket beneath him.

Arthur pressed the blade down again, this time tracing long, arced lines from the right side of Alfred's hips, up to meet the base of the initial cut, then sloped back down to reach the other side. The other cut was more straight, one continuous line stretching just under his collar bones.

Alfred let out a slow, shaky breath. A few tears spilled down from the corners of his eyes, glimmering prettily in the light.

Arthur pushed the scalpel back against the cut, straight into the muscle, and slowly, meticulously split the flesh apart. Blood started to gush free, that cute trickle long gone. Alfred's jaw was tight, his hands balled into fists so hard that his knuckles were white.

Once he finished tracing along the lines to sever muscle, Arthur said, "Doing alright?"

"Y-yeah," Alfred all but croaked. He still managed to smile, "It's more painful than I expected."

"Too much?" Arthur asked, staring at the ruby red smeared on his right hand.

Alfred shook his head, "No, it's alright. Keep going."

"Atta boy," Arthur purred, petting Alfred's golden, sweat-moist hair with his clean hand. He set the scalpel down on the end table and put his hands on each side of the cut. He waited a moment, giving Alfred one last chance to change his mind. When complaint did not come, Arthur pushed his fingertips into the open wound and started to pull the flesh apart.

Alfred screamed, the sound shrill as it echoed around the room. His legs tensed, pulling up toward his belly before he could regain his composure. Arthur carried on, knowing this to be the worst part for pain. Once he was open shock would set in and things would go much smoother.

Arthur yanked at the thick strips of muscle and skin and heard the distinct, wet sound of the fibrous tissue ripping away from bone. Alfred had covered his mouth with his left hand, muffling at least some of the agonious screams that threatened to deafen them both.

Arthur reached for the scalpel, needing it to trim the last hanging bits of muscle that refused to be pulled free from bone. It was tough work, the weight of the teen's flesh surprisingly great and the burden of it only growing further with each minute that Arthur had to hold it up one-handed.

Soon enough, almost too soon, the meat was peeled away and left to hang limply at Alfred's sides. Arthur set the scalpel aside and wiped his wet hands on the blanket. "How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good," Alfred mumbled, his blank gaze aimed at the ceiling.

Arthur eyed the man's ribs. They caged his innards, yellowed bars dotted with bits of flesh that refused to come off with the rest of his muscle. Arthur reached under the bed and into the bin, digging blindly around, until the tip of his finger bumped something sharp. He grabbed it and pulled it out; a bone saw.

"This is special," he explained, holding it out so Alfred could see. "The edges are diamond-tipped, and it's got one of the best motors. Fastest cutter on the market."

"That's pretty cool," Alfred said, his voice wavering.

"Yes, it is," Arthur agreed, pressing the power button. The machine whirred to life. Arthur really loved this model, it hardly made any noise until he pressed it to bone. It allowed him to hear the cutting rather than just the noise of the mechanism.

Alfred's hands gripped the sheets as the blade sliced cleanly through his ribs, easily separating the bone apart. Thin drops of blood flew out as the blade broke through the bone itself and into the marrow, misting Arthur's face, hair, and torso. He worked as quickly as he could, eager to get inside the teen.

After he was done he dropped the collected bones onto the floor near the foot of the bed.

"That..." Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly, "That was fast."

Arthur hummed in acknowledgment then turned his attention back to Alfred's abdomen. With the bright lights on it, there were almost no shadows inside of him. There was only the globular yellow of fat interspersed between twisting, pink organs and shocks of blood leaking from the gaping hole. His insides pulsed and undulated from his heartbeat and breathing, shifting and sliding wetly before Arthur's eyes. Clear fluid glistened over everything, making him shine.

Arthur started with the liver. It was always the most beautiful. A lovely wine shade, smooth to the touch unlike its lumpy mates. It was a pretty half-oval, healthy and fresh. Arthur slid one hand under it, cupping the organ and feeling the weight of it.

After a moment of quiet appreciation he yanked, ripping it free.

The sound Alfred made was as sharp and sudden, his entire body tensing again before sinking back down into a half-relaxed state. His skin was clammy even in the warm room, beads of sweat breaking out across his now pale flesh. A soft whine escaped his lips as tears streamed down his face to leave dark blotches in his hair and on the pillow.

Arthur ran his fingertips along the dark, almost purple length of Alfred's large intestine. He didn't respond, his eyes unfocused and breaths coming in shallow puffs. That was good for Arthur. At least Alfred wouldn't be screaming anymore. His ears were still ringing from the volume of it.

"Still with me?" He asked, wrapping his fingers around the organ and lifting it so both of them could get a better look.

Alfred blinked once, twice, then finally turned his eyes down to look. He chuckled weakly, "Wow, my own guts. Cool."

Arthur lifted lengths of the organ out of the younger man as he spoke, laying it in a squishy pile on the bed, "They're very nice."

"Thanks," Alfred said so quietly that Arthur almost missed it.

With the large intestine out of the way, Arthur started with the small. Rope after rope uncurled from inside him to find a new home on the bed. Arthur considered cutting them out but decided against it. From the feeling of the organs, the weight of them, he was sure Alfred would make a mess if he cut it.

Gall bladder, spleen and pancreas joined their counterparts on the bed in one pile of pinks, yellows, reds, and purples. Eventually Alfred was nearly empty, with only his fluttering pink lungs, bladder, and dark red heart intact. he had stopped responding to Arthur's comments a few minutes ago and from the look of him, he didn't have long. His heart beat was weak and erratic, his breaths stunted. Arthur doubted Alfred was conscious anymore, despite his eyes remaining open.

The man stood there quietly, watching Alfred's heartbeat wane and his eyes go dull. Blood pooled in his abdomen, wetting his lungs as they struggled to suck in air. A weak clench of his heart, followed by another, another, a final beat, and finally Alfred was dead.

Arthur set the scalpel on the end table, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. The air smelled like organs, blood, and sweat. When he released the air from his lungs, Arthur felt the tension melt from his body. Yes, this was why he came here. This blissful unwinding of the month's stress.

He wiped his hands on the blanket, getting as much of that brilliant red off as he could. He cast a long look at Alfred's corpse, eyes lingering on the pile of organs on the bed, then moving to the hole in his chest. Dried come was still stuck to his skin and the blanket. Finally his gaze moved to Alfred's lax face, his eyes still half-open. His pupils, massive in death, almost totally eclipsed the stunning blue of his eyes.

Finally Arthur tore himself away from the body. He walked to the door and made himself presentable, then, with one final glance back at Alfred, he left.

"Was your visit satisfactory?" The person at the desk, a mid-30s man with woefully thin red hair asked, smiling broadly.

"Yes, it was exactly what I needed," Arthur replied, stopping at the sink to wash his hands and face. The blue soap contrasted the drying red blood, mixed with it, then lathered into red-speckled blue bubbles.

"And you don't have any contraband?" The receptionist asked, that wide smile never faltering.

"Of course not," Arthur said, holding his arms out and spinning slowly around to prove that he hasn't tried to steal any organs.

After he put his coat on when the receptionist motioned to his umbrella and said, "Sun's out, Mr. Kirkland. I don't think you'll need that anymore."

"Oh?" Arthur hummed, raising his thick eyebrows. His phone indicated that it should have rained through at least midnight. "Wonderful."

The receptionist wished him a good evening as Arthur left. The bell above the door chimed as he went into the still-empty entrance hall.

He pushed the front door open and had to shied his eyes. The sun was shining brightly in the sky with only a few straggling clouds to taint the soft shade of blue. People walked by, some carrying dripping umbrellas, a sea of multi-colored people streaming along the sidewalk.

Arthur let the door close behind him, the soft jingling of the bell almost lost in the noise of the crowd.

**Author's Note:**

> Hetalia is owned by Hidekaz Himaruya, Funimation, and studio DEEN. I make no profit from the creation of this story. This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to the lives of any people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental unless specified otherwise. I do not condone any of the actions depicted herein.


End file.
